WeTried Translations

Translator: ZERO_SUGAR

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ I Pulled Out Excalibur

Chapter 295

──────

Knights of La Mancha (1)

There was a nation called Londinel.

If the Empire was the center of humanity, Londinel was its wall. Working alongside the Empire, Londinel stood on the front line and blocked those trying to cross in from the Outland.

Even though Londinel had already burned away into a handful of ashes.

From the dying embers left in that ash, one flame had been gathered and lit. A single star forged through Grand Culmination of everything that once made Londinel. A deep blue star like Londinel's national flower, the Azure Hydrangea.

Star of Culmination, Kirchhoff.

The blade of the Transcendent who bore only one star flashed. Kirchhoff smiled. Wearing the most splendid expression he could muster, he swung his sword in grand arcs.

Had his liege not told him?

Fight for humanity, just as Londinel always had. As Londinel's last knight, swing your sword in brilliant style. So that bards may sing of the final knight of Londinel.

Of course, there were no bards here.

There were no stars watching this battle, either.

But none of that mattered to Kirchhoff. Why would he say no one was watching? They were right here, filling his Imagery. Kirchhoff looked into his own Imagery. Countless people from his memories were watching him there.

He could not recall those memories clearly, so their faces were blurred.

But his liege's face was clear. He could also see the face of Azure Spear, his master. Both were smiling at Kirchhoff.

Splash.

The Carnival King tried to smear paint over their faces, but how could mere paint hide Londinel's sun? Kirchhoff snorted and charged.

"Come. Come as many times as you like."

Paint surged in waves. Clowns cackled. Fallen stars rushed toward Kirchhoff. And Kirchhoff never stopped.

Just a little farther, until sunrise.

To buy what time remained until dawn, Kirchhoff kept swinging his sword. He might not be able to split the dark night itself, but he could at least light a small lantern.

Blue flowers bloomed across the battlefield.

2.

Najin ran across the paint-stained wasteland.

The Carnival King's voice still rang in his ears, but now he could endure it. Her power was concentrating on Kirchhoff's side. Through the opening Kirchhoff had made, Najin drove in his blade.

Then, slash.

Cutting through the paint, Najin steadied his breath.

From here, he had to find Quixote, the Star of Scorn. The Carnival King would not leave her own domain, so if he took down Quixote, the one who had unleashed her Authority here... he could shatter this stage.

But how?

In this paint-coated wasteland, vision was limited. If he tried to widen his perception and take in too much information, the Carnival King's Authority would strike him. And on top of that, dozens of Star's Tombs were layered over this place.

Quite literally, Stars’ Graveyard.

Najin could roughly guess what the Carnival King was trying to do with these tombs. It became simple when he thought of Heaven-Wandering Star, Icarus.

'The stars that entered Icarus's old castle, the Great Labyrinth, wandered until they met death.'

Star's Tomb. A place where a constellation's memories linger.

A tomb created by a Transcendent for themselves would, by default, gnaw at the souls of those who entered. A short stay was fine, but remain too long and one became assimilated into the tomb.

Memories mixed together. The boundary between reality and stage blurred. In the end, the stage devoured you whole.

That was the Carnival King's goal.

She used this Stars’ Graveyard as a giant stomach, digesting every Transcendent who came to attack her and making them her own. She had already poured paint into their minds before they entered the tomb, so the erosion would be even faster.

「The Carnival King is a schemer.」

「The more time you give her, the more troublesome she becomes.」

Remembering those assessments of the Carnival King, Najin let out a long breath.

...This was why Najin had pushed the subjugation of the Carnival King so urgently.

At her core, the Carnival King was a schemer, the sort of opponent who got harder the more time she had to prepare. So the moment her plan went off track, Najin formed a subjugation force and moved immediately. He pressed her before she could ready a response.

'But.'

The Carnival King responded.

Even though her plan had gone wrong, even though the situation was beyond what she had imagined, she still responded. As if she had known this would happen from the start.

Cackle cackle cackle.

He could almost hear the Carnival King laughing in his ear. She was whispering to him. Did you think my plan failed? Do I really look like I failed to you?

You know nothing!

Ignoring the voice creeping through his mind, Najin lowered his sword. He had fallen into the Carnival King's trap, yes, but nothing was over yet.

'And...'

Najin's eyes narrowed.

"You don't know, either."

Najin raised his hand.

The Star of Requiem shone in his palm.

A star set at the exact opposite pole from the Carnival King. Najin had restored what she destroyed, and remade knights from those she had trampled. Those stories were all preserved within the Star of Requiem.

What made a star shine was the narrative within it.

The narrative of Requiem was the path Najin had walked, and the life he had lived. Humans always found answers in their own lives.

The Star of Requiem lit the wasteland.

The wishes of those who longed for a proper death became thin threads that entered Najin's sight. Thin threads. Among countless strands, Najin had to find Quixote. Normally, finding Quixote's thread among dozens or hundreds would be impossible.

"Merlin."

If Najin had not had Merlin.

"Now."

And if Najin had not held the narrative that he had "saved the Star of Mirth," it would have been impossible.

Beside the Star of Requiem, the Star of Mirth rose.

The two stars lit the way. Merlin sorted the tangled paths into a single road. Seeing the path before him, Najin stepped forward without hesitation.

Splash.

His senses blurred together.

Splash...

He could not tell where up was or down, whether he was walking or swimming, falling or soaring, but Najin did not stop. The path he needed was perfectly clear.

And then.

The laughter in his ears grew fiercer as time passed. It no longer echoed from inside him. The laughter now began outside and struck his eardrums directly.

Closer.

As it drew closer and closer, the moment he entered that place, he heard the voice of the stage Narrator.

You cannot enter this place.

You are not qualified.

This is La Mancha, an ideal land that does not exist. Only the Knights of La Mancha may set foot here. You are not a knight of La Mancha.

The Narrator denied Najin entry. It declared that he had no right to stand on this stage.

You are a spectator.

A spectator who watches the stage from the audience seats.

Spectators cannot interfere with the story.

That is an utterly obvious [Rule].

You cannot become an actor.

Listening to those voices, Najin placed his hand on the opaque wall blocking his way. Then he let out a mocking laugh.

"I am not qualified?"

The one who answered was not the Narrator. A certain lord seated on Najin's shoulder burst out laughing. Laughing as if this were absurd, the lord settled into Najin.

When I am entering my own domain.

Who dares speak to me of qualifications?

Sancho Panza, Lord of La Mancha. The moment La Mancha's rightful owner settled into Najin's body, the curtain could no longer reject him. He had more than enough qualification to step onto the stage.

And so, when he pulled back the curtain and stepped up.

A ridiculous stage stained with paint stretched to the far horizon. That man stood upon it.

A being stripped of every emotion except laughter.

One whose story had been defiled by a clown.

And thus, one who looked down on everything in the world.

Star of Scorn, Quixote.

He looked at Najin, who had stepped onto his stage.

3.

Najin looked at the master of the stage.

"A new guest has come to the stage! If I do not welcome a guest, how could I call myself a knight?"

Things Najin had not seen the first time he faced the Star of Scorn now came into view.

Prrh, prrrh...

Quixote sat astride a donkey, snorting in a ridiculous way. As if trying to imitate the horned horse from a fairy tale, someone had stuck a chunk of wood into the donkey's forehead. Najin knew that piece of wood was the staff Rocinante once held.

"Let's go, Rocinante!"

The donkey resembled Rocinante. Even after becoming a magical beast, he still served as Quixote's [legs].

"Who are you?"

From far away, Quixote closed the distance in an instant and stopped right before Najin. He looked down at Najin from atop his donkey. Normally, the Star of Scorn attacked anyone who entered his stage indiscriminately...

But now he felt familiarity toward Najin.

As if greeting an old friend.

That gave Najin a brief window. Without a word, Najin looked at the spear Quixote held.

Creak, creak, krikrikrik.

A twisting sound came from the spear. At first it seemed like simple noise, but to Najin, who knew the spear was made from Sancho's flesh, it sounded like screams. Unable to die, unable to live, Sancho was screaming.

Lastly.

Najin looked at Quixote.

A La Mancha military flag with a ridiculous sunflower drawn on it fluttered from Quixote's back. His armor was smeared with paint. The corners of his mouth were split long enough to reach his ears, and mockery leaked endlessly from that torn mouth.

"..."

His eyes looked down on everything. In Quixote's eyes, the world was trivial. As if everything in the world were petty and laughable, existing only to be sneered at... his gaze held nothing but scorn.

"Quixote."

Looking at the Star of Scorn, Najin spoke.

"What is laughter to you?"

A simple question.

The Star of Scorn answered with a sneer.

"Why, mockery. Ridicule! Derision! Scorn! The world is full of ridiculous, trivial things, things that exist only to be laughed at."

He spread his arms wide like an orator.

"Laugh at everything. All of it is nothing but a ridiculous play, so why would there be any reason not to laugh?"

Najin smiled.

"Is that so."

"Yes, so answer my question. You are..."

Najin swung his sword. It was a surprise strike, but Quixote reacted. A massive clash rang out, and both were driven back. Brushing away the rising dust, Najin and Quixote locked eyes.

"That is not what laughter is."

In Najin's hand, the Star of Mirth shone.

"The laughter you spoke of... that isn't what it is, is it?"

The laughter I spoke of? Quixote's eyes narrowed. Whenever he looked at that star, his head spun. His thoughts became a mess.

But only for a moment.

Someone's voice rang in Quixote's ear.

It was the voice of his beloved lady, Dulcinea. In a sticky, sweet tone, she whispered to the Star of Scorn. Bring me that villain's head. Make me a flower from that head and gift it to me. Then I will smile for you.

Quixote's tangled mind cleared in an instant.

Quixote was elated. Enraptured. The love a knight offered his lady could be this pure. With a pure heart, Quixote declared:

"You are a villain!"

Quixote did not judge for himself. Did his lady Dulcinea not show him the road to take?

"Villains must be punished by law. I shall defeat you and offer your head to my lady Dulcinea!"

Quixote, the Star of Scorn, raised his spear high into the sky.

At that moment, his stage rippled.

The Star Relics wrapped around his body, the items left behind by the Knights of La Mancha, began to glow. In that instant, the [actors] who had once [performed] those absurd adventures with Quixote rose from the paint.

"Come, my beloved companions."

Wearing clown masks, they cackled.

"Glory to our noble lady, Dulcinea!"

They were not simple illusions.

The Knights of La Mancha once led by Quixote, countless Transcendents, those who should have remained buried in La Mancha, became clowns and formed a single knight order.

Under the flag of the Star of Scorn, the Knights of La Mancha assembled.

Dozens of Transcendents glared at Najin. The moment their spears and blades pointed at him, the Narrator spoke again through a cackling laugh.

These are the Knights of La Mancha!

Every one of them is a Transcendent, battle-hardened veterans who crossed the Outland alongside the Star of Scorn.

They are powerful. Extremely powerful.

Under the flag of La Mancha, they move as one body. They found La Mancha, which no one else could find, and discovered an ideal land that should not exist! Their achievement is comparable to King Arthur's.

Knights who found heaven in the barren Outland.

They may even be greater than Arthur, who ultimately failed to reach his ideal land. At least here, in this heaven they reached, La Mancha, they never break!

The bodies of Quixote and the Knights of La Mancha surged. The stage Narrator granted them narrative. Strength bestowed on the foundation of the narratives they already possessed. On this limited stage, they could wield power beyond what they originally had.

Even against Najin.

Even against Arthur's successor, the one who held Excalibur.

On this stage, the Star of Scorn was greater than Arthur. The Carnival King had directed it that way. She was the Narrator, the scriptwriter, and the director.

You are alone.

Unlike the Star of Scorn, the protagonist of this stage, you have no knights who follow you.

You cannot defeat them!

Just as the Carnival King was about to put a period on it, Najin laughed. He could not help it. His prediction had been exactly right.

"As expected, you know nothing."

Najin raised his hand.

If you knew what happened in La Mancha.

If you knew what I obtained there.

Who I met there, and what promise I made.

If you knew all of that.

Carnival King, you should never have directed the stage like this. You should never have let me meet the Star of Scorn. No matter what it took, you should have stopped me from stepping onto this stage.

Rip.

Najin reached out and tore off the flag bound to his shoulder blade.

The hidden flag.

What Najin had obtained in La Mancha, a blade prepared to bring down the Carnival King's last court jester.

Najin tied that flag to the Lance of the Crossed Star and raised it high. The emblem of La Mancha was engraved on the flag. It was the military banner granted to Najin by the Lord of La Mancha.

The moment it fluttered, Najin sensed it instinctively. Far above, the Carnival King's gaze fixed on him had wavered. Down below, where the subjugation battle had begun, Najin realized that for the first time, she was flustered.

Of course she was. This was a situation she had never expected.

Who could have expected it? Even in a hell buried in paint for hundreds of years, one unstained soul had remained.

"Sancho Panza."

Najin called the name of the Lord of La Mancha.

And.

The master of La Mancha answered Najin's call.

Join our discord at https://dsc.gg/wetried